Christmas in the Asylum
by ASouffleToServeTwo
Summary: Alone in the Blight one-shot. Merry soulmas guys! Gather round your bonfire for a heartwarming tale of an unexpected friendship, and a daring escape from its certain destruction. Rated T for Swearing.


**Christmas in the Asylum**

**This one-shot was written as a part of _Alone in the Blight's_ Dark Souls Christmas event. Enjoy!**

* * *

Up on the roof of the Northern Undead Asylum, a cold wind was blowing. Trickles of ice and snowflakes battered into the face of the Asylum Demon, whose fingers (clutched around his enormous stone hammer) were now deprived of feeling. He began to tap his foot impatiently.

Where on earth could the Chosen Undead be?

It really was inconsiderate to take so long getting up here, especially when the Demon had been politely waiting for several hours to plunge attack his face.

Just when the Demon had about as much of this cr*p as he could take, the Big Pilgrim Doors at the other end of the room began to dramatically open. The latest Chosen Undead swaggered in, kitted up in full Knight's starting equipment. He looked up at the Demon, and starting spamming the 'Point Down' gesture. Clearly, this guy considered himself to be a badass. The Demon would have fun with this guy.

With an enormous crash, the Demon landed on the ground, swinging his hammer in completely the wrong direction in the knowledge that the Chosen would already have run through the drawbridge gate and be far beyond his reach.

But, when the dust had cleared, to the Demon's surprise, the Undead knight was standing perfectly still. A newbie! Christmas had truly come early for the Demon. He loved demolishing these scrubs. He decided that the time had come for a taunt of his own, and the Demon starting doing a crude interpretation of the infamous 'Well, What Is It!' that had so often been the concluding sight of his many fights against the Chosen Undeads.

"What was that for?" The Undead whimpered. He sounded pretty upset.

"Are you kidding?" the Demon retorted, disbelieving. "Why aren't you running, you fagit? Didn't you read the message?"

"It's not that," the Undead said, preparing to clarify. "It's just... We do this same old song and dance everyday of our lives! I kill you, sometimes you kill me, I rip the Pilgrim's key from your cold, dead corpse and make my great escape."

"So? That's the way the game was written!"

"Well, I for one am tired of it! As a token of peace, I set down my weapon."

His weapon being a Broken Sword Hilt, the token seemed rather insignificant, but he did it anyway. The Demon laughed. "What an absolute scrub! Do not presume that I don't know that fist damage is the exact same!"

"Why don't you trust me?" the Undead wondered.

"Well, maybe because you've stuck your sword through my neck about five-hundred times a day, every day, for the past two years!"

"Well, I say in the name of the season, we bury the hatchet. Whadd'ya say?"

The Demon was thoughtful. He had come across an eventuality that none of his AI coding had prepared him for. "But... what would we do?"

"Well, if we pull together, then perhaps we may all escape the Asylum. A mutually-assured truce."

"And how, wise guy, would we even get through that door right there?" the Demon pointed at the Pilgrim's Door. "The game developers force-feed me the key in my morning coffee every New Game."

"And you seriously didn't think not to take the coffee one time?"

"Have you seen me between games? I need a perk."

"Well, this is a great start. We need you to take a sh*t, and fast. Do you have any laxatives on you?"

The Demon snorted. "Do I look like a pharmacist? Do I look like I have shelves of medicinal product stuffed up my fat ass?"

"Jeez, I was only asking. No wonder everyone just plunge attacks you... Well, if you don't have any laxatives, then we're going to have to use an au natural source."

"You don't mean..."

"I'm afraid I do. If you're going to manage that kind of stamina, we are going to need a lot of Green Blossom, and fast."

At that moment, Oscar (yes, that's his f*cking name, fagits) the noble knight of Astora came into the room, walking through the still-open gate door. "Hey!" he shouted, seemingly peeved at the Undead. "Where's my feckin' boulder, mate?"

"Oops, sorry Oscar," the Undead profused. "Wait - but if the boulder didn't break open the wall for you, how did you get out?"

Oscar started to laugh. "What, did you think I was dying or something? This is just a flesh wound! Nah, I just climbed out of the top of the roof, through the hole I got knocked through."

"Well, this is awkward," the Demon said, itching the back of his head out of nervousness. "You're supposed to be dead. I killed you. Sorry."

"That's okay, matey, no 'ard feelings. I've been listening to your conversation. Most intriguing. The game script says I can't die unless I give the Undead here his Estus Flask. So I just won't give him the bottle! Simple! Free ticket outta here!"

"K, alright," the Undead sighed. "But it's just us three, okay? No more people. No more-"

A naked hollow with moonlight-yellow eyes had hobbled over, with hope sparkling in his utterly-revolting face. He started to speak. "I heard ye's too. I was wonderin' if I could come-"

"You're that c*nt with the bow who always attacks me when I'm trying to pick up my weapons, aren't you?" the Undead accused.

The hollow looked at him with an empty expression. "I'm just doin' me job. It's not like I enjoy the... tender feel of the bowstring upon my fingers, the soft flesh of the wood, the flexibility of the notch and its oooh-so-durable curves..." He had started to drool.

"There are two many of us," the Undead tried to explain. "The crow can only carry so much weight."

"Then leave fatty behind!" The hollow yelled, referring to the Demon.

"That's a brilliant idea!" the Demon proclaimed, garnering a slight sense of cruel amusement as the idiotic hollow begin to smile with pride. The Demon's Great Hammer dropped, and no 'one would miss that hollow, especially not after the squelchy sound his body had persisted on making as it was dismantled.

"Okay, back to business," the Undead said. "We're going to need to initiate Operation Turbo Turd immediately if we're going to get out of here before the Tutorial Bonfires start calling us casuals. Oscar, can you go get us some..." He gulped hard, fearing his obligation to finish the sentence. "Pursuers."

Oscar looked horrified. "What kind of sick operation are you running here?"

"We have no choice. We have to literally scare the sh*t out of the Demon if we want our freedom. Go now, and return safely."

Oscar Looked Skyward. "You f*cking owe me for this." Then, he was gone, leaving the Undead and his Demon adversary alone.

The Undead started to try and make small talk. "So, what's your name?"

"Asylum Demon. Can't you read my health bar?"

"You mean you don't have a name?"

"Why would I need one? I'm an overweight tutorial boss with no sense of direction or common sense!"

"And no self-esteem either, it would appear. Chill, dude. You're still more respected as a boss than Pinwheel."

"Yeah, but the developers actually put more than five minutes work into me. And yet, they made my every move so exploitable. I swing to the left, and they go to the right. I smash forwards, and they go backwards. I jump into the air, and they f*cking walk around and stab me in the rectum!"

The undead had started to snigger. "Ha... _rectum."_

"So," the Demon began, awkwardly fumbling his first friendly conversation. "Where've you come from, eh?"

"Skyrim."

"What difficulty?"

"Adept. I kept getting caught pickpocketing unarmed women and murdered by mudcrabs, and this game looked so much easier."

The Demon burst into a fit of uncontrolled laughter. "You are _definitely_ in the wrong neighbourhood, mofo."

"Yeah," the Undead whispered softly. "I suppose I am. There aren't even any killstreaks in this game..."

The Demon stopped laughing abruptly. "Yes... right. Hmmm... I wonder where Oscar could be?"

Speak of the devil, the knight came back into the boss room, breathlessly clutching a scroll, and with black feathers all over his armour.

"What happened to you?" the Undead asked.

Oscar tore off his helmet, revealing scarlet-red flesh. "Sparkly got pretty pissed when I told her I didn't have a Soul of Manus to trade."

"Dude," the Undead sniggered. "You have Sticky White Stuff all over your back."

Oscar closed his eyes in dismay, and started muttering under his breath. "We have an old saying in my family: F*ck f*cking birds."

"You got the Pursuers?"

"Yes. But I hope you realise the extent of the evil that you are unleashing..."

"You leave that to me. Okay, we're going to need a catalyst."

The Demon broke into a grin. "I know just the guy. Yo Stray!" His foot began pounding upon the floor. The stone caved, revealing an entire hidden room below the one in which the trio stood. In it stood the Asylum Demon's much more attractive cousin, Stray Demon, who was looking up in confusion at the hole.

"What the?" Stray began. "You're not supposed to know about me yet!"

"You're always stomping around right outside my cell!" the Undead cried. "How could I not know?"

"Stray, we're going to need your Demon's Catalyst," Asylum continued.

"Yeah, sure, sure..." Stray said, passing his enormous staff up through the hole. "What do you need it for?"

"We're going to cast Pursuers."

Stray's face fell into a snarl. "Dark magic? Aww f*ck that shit I'm out!" He tried to take back his staff, but Asylum tugged it from his grasp, leaving Stray to pout in his pit. "When I get outta here there's gonna be trouble!"

"Okay, let's do this shit!" the Undead cried, before he came to a sudden realisation. "Crap, I don't have enough Intelligence to use this!"

"None of us do!" Oscar revealed. "Our goose is cooked, lads. Time to give in."

Suddenly, a surge of dark energy swarmed through the dank, dungeon air. A sound more terrifying than the rise of the devil himself echoed from one of the surrounding tunnels. A black message box popped up.

"**Dark spirit cHaOsDeStRoYeRfRoMhELL has invaded**," the Undead read aloud. "But... that's..."

"Impossible," the Demon finished. "Invasions in the Undead Asylum are impossible."

"And yet..."

"There's no other explanation. The fabric of reality has been thrown off balance by our unnatural alliance."

"So, in other words..."

"**You're fucked**."

The voice came from behind. A red figure clad in full Smough's armour and clutching a Crystal Greatsword emerged from behind a pillar. "You attempted to break the game, didn't you?" it accused, gently caressing the end of its shiny blade.

"And who are you, might I ask?" Oscar said, calmly unsheathing his Straight Sword of Astora from his belt.

"I am the antibody. Designed to enter the game matrix and obliterate faulty code. This alliance is in conflict with the Terms and Conditions of Use for Dark Souls (C, 2011), but you wouldn't know that because you didn't read it, did you faggits?"

The Undead looked down at his feet. "Yes, I did," he lied pathetically.

"No, you just skipped it so you could get to the f*cking game, didn't you?"

"Now, now," Oscar remarked. "Let's just settle this like ad-"

His sentence died incomplete in his mouth, as the antibody ninja-flipped at blinding speed around to his back and plunged the unholy greatsword straight into his spine, and through to the other side. Oscar dropped dead, the Estus Flask skittering at his feet.

"Pick it up," the antibody ordered to the Undead.

"No," he replied sternly.

"I said pick it up, faggit. You want some of this?" He started waving the Crystal Greatsword at the Undead, who leaped back in alarm. The Undead scooped up the Flask.

The antibody issued his next order. "Take Oscar's sword. Now."

The Undead stooped down to do so, but couldn't resist asking a question. "Why are you doing this?"

The antibody started to grin maniacally, and his boot clamped down onto the Undead's hand, causing him to yell sharply. "I'm just doing my job," he claimed. "But that doesn't mean I can't _love it. _Now, pick up the f*cking sword."

The Undead did so once the antibody had released his pressure. "Now kill the Asylum Demon," the malevolent invader decreed.

"No, please," the Undead whimpered. "He's my friend."

"Did I say that, c*nt?" The Demon roared, whilst the tears pricking in his eyes told a different story. "Just do it. I'll be fine."

The Undead was the picture of misery as he raised the sword to his demonic buddy. The Demon closed its eyes gently in acceptance, issuing a soft prayer that only he could hear. The antibody put his hands on his hips and started to laugh. "You f*cking faggits are the highlight of my day," he revealed, showering the Undead in his spit. "Just stop for a minute while I get my Binoculars out."

The Undead saw his opportunity, and aimed a swipe at the antibody. The evil program had anticipated the move, and simply stood still as the blade slid over his armour and inflicted no damage.

"It's called a Trainer," the antibody chuckled, kicking the Chosen Undead right in his Bells of Awakening. "Look it up."

Recovering from the impact, the Undead lifted his head as he heard a faint sound in the distance. Could it be?

"Enough talk," the antibody said, smashing the Undead around the chops with his Grass Crest Shield. "The X Factor is on in half an hour. My body f*cking needs that sh*t. **FINISH HIM!"**

The Undead swallowed his bile, and ran at the Demon. At that moment, the Big Pilgrim's Door exploded open, and a huge black blur swept in.

"Where's my fucking Soul of Manus, bitches?!" Sparkly squawked. Her eyes gleamed as she saw the crimson colours of the invader. "Ooh! Give me soft, give me warm! Caw!"

The antibody raised his hands. "I have no quarrel with you, bird. Stay back."

"Nope," Sparkly retorted. "It's r* ping time. Prepare your anus! Squawk!"

The giant crow latched its claws onto the antibody, pulling him from his feet. He barely had the chance to speak as the bird ascended into the rafters, taking her prey with her. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

"Hah, _anus_," the Undead giggled.

"Uh, dude," the Demon said uncertainly. "You ran your sword straight into me."

Looking down, the Undead saw that he was in-fact, not mistaken. "Oops, sorry."

"Yeah," the Demon grunted. "Merry f*cking Christmas, c*nt." Then, without further ado he fell upon his back, his life absent from his body.

The Undead stared at the corpse sheepishly, before turning to the camera, and offering a consolatory Shrug.

* * *

**Merry Homing Soulmas everyone!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


End file.
